Luke warm cup of tea
by better-company-than-a-skull
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson get intimate, story of the things that followed. Rated M for Mega Awesome and you know, smut.
1. Chapter 1

John sat in the chair he'd claimed all that time ago in the flat, opposite to the squishy leather counterpart that Sherlock had allocated himself to, fingers tracing the now fuzzy red material, a green checked blanket draped over it, picking off 'bobbles' that formed from wear, and he then cupped his hands around a luke warm cup of tea. He lifted his laptop and rubbed the hot patches which burned uncomfortably into his jeans. He'd had it on his lap for a couple of hours now, watching various porn videos after trying to write up the latest case to no avail. There wasn't really anything else for him to do that day other than have a wank. He hated days like that, and wondered how Sherlock kept himself so wonderfully amused all the time, except he didn't. Sherlock was bored too.

Besides the videos that flashed on the screen took his mind away from the glorious sight he'd witnessed earlier that day; Sherlock's bare behind.

He'd seen him in the shower earlier that day, and yes, he looked probably a ___little_ bit longer than he should have, but the lean, muscled figure was too enticing for him to look away.

The tiny droplets of water sliding down his arched back towards firm buttocks.

That image remained in John's head and clouded his thoughts.

'Damn it.' He shouted more loudly than he meant to, snapping down the lid of his laptop and dropping it heavily on the crowded table beside him, disrupting his empty mug.

'Are you ok?' Sherlock himself said, sauntering into the living room, the lack of interest dripping from his tongue.

'Yes, now put some damned clothes on. I know you have them because i'm the one who has to wash them, how hard is it to put a shirt into the washing machine and press the 'on' button?' John yelled in reply, realising he'd gone into a somewhat unnecessary rant and eyeing up Sherlock's form once again. How he wanted every part of him, some suppressed part of him clawing its way out. He had wrapped a small white towel around himself after his morning shower and had yet to remove it and put on a shirt and trousers, despite the fact that his shower was over 4 hours ago and he was, by now, most definitely dry.

'No, I will not succumb to my oppressors.' Sherlock replied curtly.

'Now.' John fumed. Teeth grinded. This was all he needed, more images of a naked Sherlock Holmes in his head. He was freaking out. Finding Sherlock...attractive was messing with his head.

'Why?'

'Because I don't want to close my eyes at night and picture you parading around the flat in your underwear, besides you look like some creepy insect.'

John melted slightly at the thought of seeing Sherlock fully naked then reminded himself that we was not acting like ___himself _right now. That was exactly what he wanted, and yet the one thing he didn't ever want, both running parallel alongside each other.

'I can't see why not, and i'm not concerned about the way my body looks, unlike you who stares at himself in the mirror relentlessly.' Sherlock smirked.

John felt a familiar feeling, all his blood rushing down. Not now, not now. Arrogance always got him.

'I'm going out for some fresh air.' He gulped, the flat suddenly feeling a lot smaller and mustier. He also felt like Sherlock was closer to him, breathing down his neck and getting him all hot and flustered.

John stepped out of the flat, slamming the door on his way out. He didn't really know why he was so angry, so unable to perceive what was happening to him, but the dark haired figure in the flat behind him was currently making his blood boil.

Sherlock Holmes had aroused John, and this was not okay. It would never be an okay thing because John believed himself to be as straight as it was possible to be.

'Hey.' Sherlock's voice purred out of the now open window.

'What?' John replied in an annoyed tone. Sherlock still had no shirt on and his head rested in his hand, a bored look on his face but smug nonetheless.

'I'm a consulting detective you idiot, I know how you feel right now, your pulse is racing and I know you're angry, seething really, all for one reason.'

'Keep your voice down Sherlock, you know people are already talking.'

'Oh it's all people do nowadays, and it's getting worse isn't it, the longer I talk, the longer I hang out of this window. It's driving you insane.'

'No Sherlock, it's not, now go back inside or you'll catch a cold, and then who's going to have to look after you?'

'I'll close the window when you admit it, I've turned you on.'

'I thought you were meant to be good at deducing?'

'I'm never wrong John Watson, I'll be waiting for you.'

….

After a couple of slow laps around the park in which he had a lot of time to just think, John returned to 22B1 Baker Street, heart pounding in his chest, so hard he could hear it. He hoped Sherlock had forgotten the whole nasty business that occurred earlier that day and that he could just make them both a cup of tea and it would all be over and done with, but who was he kidding, that man could probably remember his own birth.

After a brief nod of recognition to Mrs. Hudson, who was standing in the hallway, John hurried to his room and closed the door behind him. He thought about putting a chair in front of it, barricading himself in but decided this was probably too drastic, and Sherlock would probably climb in through the window if he needed to.

'John is that you?' Sherlock called through faded wood.

'Not now Sherlock.' John replied.

He opened the door anyway.

'It's okay John, I remember telling you I was married to my work and I have no time for others, but from your perspective I think I see where you're coming from-charming, intellectual...' He smirked.

'Not in the mood.' John said, raising an eyebrow. He pushed Sherlock aside and went to the kitchen, filling up the kettle and flicking it on, putting tea bags in his and Sherlock's allocated mugs.

As he poured in the milk he felt a cool breath on the back of his neck. He stood to attention then turned around to come face to face with Sherlock who sported a stupid smile.

He tried to take his tea and nudge Sherlock out of the way but two arms had found their way behind him, trapping John between Sherlock and the counter.

'I turn you on don't I?' he smiled, brushing a hand on John's hip briefly.

'No, go away.' John said bluntly. His hips buckled slightly, enough for Sherlock to feel it.

'You're lying, do you not think I can tell when a man is lying, it's my job for God's sake.'

'Stop it.'

'No.' he tilted his head.

Sherlock pushed John against the counter, hurting him slightly.

'Admit it, you find me attractive.'

'I'm not admitting anything, get off me.'

Sherlock pushed harder.

'You're starting to annoy me Sherlock.' John said as calmly as he could.

'Good, I like angry sex.'

'What did you just say?' John spat.

'I said that I liked angry sex.' Sherlock repeated impatiently, lowering himself so their eyes met directly. John wasn't entirely sure if he liked the darkness Sherlock's eyes had taken on, it was too sinister but oddly beautiful.

The thought of Sherlock angry made John hard. He cursed out loud. 'I'm not gay!'

'Yes, I can see that.' Sherlock said sarcastically, feeling John get gradually closer.

'Oh God.'

'See I knew it, I make you horny, submit.' Sherlock grinned.

'I was in the army, I don't just 'submit'.' John spat, saying the words with less enthusiasm than he'd hoped to. He could feel himself slipping.

Sherlock looked at him, determined and lustful, a dark smile playing on his lips, a look which soon turned into his infamous puppy dog eyes.

'No don't do that.' John reasoned. 'Im just...'

'You know what, fine I admit it.' John sighed, shaking his head. 'I give up, there's just something that you do Sherlock and I think you made me gay, but i'm not sure that's even pos-' he gasped.

Sherlock's hand had reached towards the hard bulge that had formed underneath John's trousers and he flinched causing Sherlock to move his hand away.

'Please don't resist it John.' Sherlock soothed, running the other hand through John's short hair.

'I won't.'

'I don't trust you.' Sherlock half smiled, distrust evident. He grabbed both of John's hands with his and stroked his knuckles.

'You have very soft hands John.'

He made his way behind John and forcefully pulled his arms behind his back, police arrest style, and turned his head to kiss John's neck lightly.

John groaned slightly.

'Interesting, dominance is a turn on for you.' Sherlock said, noting another level of arousal wash over John. He'd have to write that down later, or make a spreadsheet of some kind. It could be his new hobby. Sherlock was already enjoying himself.

'It'd seem so, yes.' John replied, looking down at himself, slightly disgusted that he was acting like such an idiot and that he couldn't control himself.

Sherlock pressed himself closer to John, his front against John's back. He leaned into John's ear.

'So John Watson, what do you want from me?'

'Don't be a tease Sherlock' John warned, finally glad of having all his sexual frustration and his thoughts leave his head. Sherlock lifted John up on to the counter, John's legs wrapped around Sherlock's body, and kissed him. A shy innocent kiss, filling John's stomach with the butterflies that he thought had gone back to their cocoons a long time ago. Sherlock's light eyes darkened, all innocence leaving the room right there and then. He pressed John as far back as he could go, cupping his cock through his trousers and grabbing him, watching his eyes close and feeling him go hard all over.

'Bedroom.' He whispered into John's left ear. John felt Sherlock's erection pressing against him, and it just made him all the hornier. All he could do in response was whimper slightly.

He let go of John and stepped towards the door, opening it without a word, his usually pale face slightly flushed.

As John entered into Sherlock's room long fingers smacked his buttocks and Sherlock winked at John whilst he took a moment to realise he was about to have sex with his flatmate. A man he'd dreamed about, and…wanked about once, not that he'd admit that to anyone. Sherlock probably knew he did it anyway, noting John sneaking off and locking doors behind him, then coming out five minutes later with red cheeks and a guilty look on his face. The fuel for his masturbation was often someone dominating him, consuming and conquering him, John whimpering for them to do bad things to him, and those thoughts got him off so quickly. Sherlock knew now.

John had only been in Sherlock's bedroom a number of times, and it didn't look any different, everything was exactly where it was the last time, no hint of any changes. It was cool, a light breeze swirling through the open window, which Sherlock closed. The room smelt of him, the only words to describe the scent being dark and heavy. It smelt of under the cover sweat and incense, the source being a small burner by the window. Sometimes john felt like he didn't really know Sherlock at all.

He didn't have much time to think about the room though, as he was pushed back against the bed, Sherlock's lips catching his, crushing his, into a passionate kiss full of urgency, lust and, and both men couldn't get enough, yet still felt that they weren't close enough to each other. Lips aggressive and demanding. John parted his lips slightly, moaning into his roommates mouth and Sherlock took this opportunity to slide his tongue into his mouth, brushing harshly sending jolts down backs. Hands slid over John, round to his chest, over his nipples. In that moment everything felt so right. John wasn't gay, he knew he wasn't, but having Sherlock's tongue playing with his own felt so normal, and this was the best kiss John had ever had by far even if Sherlock's mouth felt so different from a womans. Right now John didn't give a shit about his sexuality, he just wanted Sherlock Holmes.

John's tongue worked perfectly around Sherlock's and skilled hands worked their way around his body. John stopped for a minute and looked Sherlock in the eyes, seeing a determined lust, and then lifted his jumper over his head, leaving him in the shirt beneath. He dropped the awful jumper to the floor without a word and went back to Sherlock's lips, biting them slightly.

'Fuck.' Sherlock said quietly next to John's lips as he fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, his usually accurate hands somehow too excited for the delicate task in hand. He eventually got them all undone and slid the dark blue shirt over John's shoulders, kissing and sucking along his collarbones as the shirt fell to the floor. His body was firm and tanned from all the military training. John lifted his head revealing a perfect neck, which Sherlock soon got to work on, leaving little marks all over him to claim John as his own.

Sherlock stopped on John's neck and travelled down, kneeling, leaving tiny kisses down john's body. He began to unbuckle the leather belt that was keeping him from what he wanted and, after what seemed like a year to John, pulled down his trousers. Sherlock didn't even need to ask if he could get hard for him.

Johns' cock stood to attention and he ached for Sherlock. John looked down at Sherlock, a begging expression etched on his face.

'Patience.' Sherlock soothed, looking up at John with dark eyes. He grabbed John's hips and traced down his v-lines, before mouthing at his cock through cotton boxers, the art of the tease his aim for the night.

'Oh my God.' John exhaled, almost cumming right there and then just from the movement.

Sherlock slipped his hands into John's pants and wriggled them down painfully slowly until they fell around John's ankles. He cupped John's balls with one hand and stroked his shaft with the other, brushing the soft hair lightly, before licking his tip with his tongue, making John inhale quickly and slam his hands on to Sherlock's shoulders due to the unexpectedness of it all. A distracting hand stroked the inside of his thigh. He pulled up and down John's length, fascinated by the slight reveal of skin as he pushed backwards. He stopped and kissed between John's thighs, sucking as he got closer to John's penis. Sherlock wrapped his lips around John's tip, deciding it was time to play with some teasing licks and hurried flicks. He took John's cock in his mouth whole without warning, taking the head and swirling it with his tongue then moving all the way down, moving up and down it with such force that it took John's breath away, hot and hard. He moaned to himself as Sherlock placed kisses and licked along his length. He'd had his dick sucked by women before, and overall it was pleasurable experience, but with Sherlock bobbing on his cock it was a whole different matter, all the pent-up frustration and lust for his roommate being burnt at once in some huge bonfire. Seeing the black curls around his cock was the icing on the cake. He took John deeper, somehow expertly with closed eyes, knowing what he was doing, John pushing his head back and forth, whilst hips moved to compensate, nails scratching the surface of once delicate skin. John's body trembled, mind flashing with how wrong and right everything was, how dirty it felt to have Sherlock on his knees.

Sherlock stopped, pushing John's hands from the back of his head, revealing John's slick cock, throbbing slightly. Sherlock placed a sweet kiss on his length and took the time to suck the slightly dripping head once more wiping away pre-cum from John's tip with the end of his tongue, letting it linger. He was flushed and yet composed and stoic all at once. John moaned, glad Sherlock had stopped to give him some time to actually breathe.

'Am I any good?' He said breathlessly. Of course Sherlock fucking Holmes needed to be analytical of the way he sucked dick.

'Extraordinary.' John replied, putting a hand under Sherlock's chin and lifting his head up to look him in the eye. 'Fucking brilliant.'

Sherlock barely gave him any time to reply before he got back to work, catching John off guard. 'Fucking brilliant.' He repeated softly to himself.

******MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT SMUT, DONT HATE ME.**

******It would mean a lot if you review!**

******[edited]**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the reviews, they were lovely 3**

**I'm meant to be revising German right now but instead I'm writing Sherlock porn. I have no regrets.**

**I had to google anal sex for this, I hope you're all happy.**

John moaned as Sherlock sucked his cock with the enthusiasm and urgency of a cocaine addict about to get his next fix. John Watson was Sherlock Holmes' drug, and right now he couldn't get enough.

'Sherlock.' John gasped breathlessly, reaching down and running his hands through and pulling on Sherlock's black curls. 'Stop.' He was going to come too soon, and as much as he needed to, he wasn't ready yet. He couldn't ground himself and it was terrifying. 'Stop.' he repeated, pushing Sherlock slightly.

With one last lick Sherlock stopped, looking up at John with sad eyes.

'Oh stop it and fuck me.' John said, rolling his eyes and running his hands through Sherlock's hair in one last attempt to ground himself. It worked, steadying his head and making him feel slightly less dizzy.

Sherlock got up off his knees and kissed John again, softly and tenderly, barely touching his lips. John had never really noticed Sherlock's lips, softer than he'd ever imagined and slightly fuller too.

'Do you know how long I've wanted to do this for?' he said softly next to John's lips.

John shook his head.

'Ever since you walked into the lab I knew, something about you, so defeated and fragile, yet so detrmined too. As soon as we were both in the apartment together I wanted to rip off your clothes and take you right on the chair, show you I wasn't to be fucked around with. God I wanted you so much, I couldn't talk to you for fear of blurting out what I wanted to do to you.' Sherlock smiled, a devilish glint in his eye. He looked taller, darker.

'Why didn't you, why didn't you fuck me there and then?' John smirked, biting his lip, a gesture that made Sherlock slightly crazy.

Sherlock shrugged. 'Most of the time you were a blank canvas, stuck in your head some days. I couldn't read you, except for when you were thinking about the war, then I could, and then you think too much.'

He was then aware that John was standing in nothing but his socks, with his penis jutting out vertically and yet he was still fully clothed. It was oddly comical and he sniggered.

He began undoing the buttons of his favourite purple shirt before John nudged his hands out of the way and ripped it open roughly, revealing a pale, toned chest. John ran his hands along Sherlock's body, and leaned in, swirling his tongue around Sherlock's taut nipple. He felt it get harder under his touch and moved up to kiss him again. He then pulled down Sherlock's trousers, again roughly, taking him slightly by surprise.

He grabbed Sherlock's wrist and pulled him onto the bed, straddling him. He grinded his bare cock against Sherlock, causing the detective to release a guttural moan.

John pushed himself towards the end of the bed, back arched upwards, and put his mouth on Sherlock's growing bulge. He then expertly hooked his tongue under the waistband of the underwear and bit the elastic.

'You've done this before.' Sherlock commented, admiring the army doctor, and putting his arms behind his head.

John hummed in reply, his mouth busy, and yanked down, removing Sherlock's pants in one swift action. His cock jumped up, happy to be free from oppressive underwear. John moved back up and kissed it softly, before straddling Sherlock again and leaning down to kiss his lips.

'John, have you ever done ___this_ before though?' Sherlock asked, concerned for the man on top of him.

'No.' John breathed out, getting off from grinding against Sherlock's naked body.

'Ok.' Sherlock replied thoughtfully. He leaned over to the bedside table and pulled a bottle of lube from the first drawer.

John raised an eyebrow.

'What I do masturbate you know, I don't want friction burns.' Sherlock said, unable to comprehend that John didn't think he pleasured himself once in a while. 'Anyway are you sure you're ready? I don't want to hurt you.' His face was full of honesty and complete understanding. He'd been on the bottom before, knew what it was like. An invasion of privacy really.

'I'm ready.' John exhaled, eyes closed, totally off his face in the moment and barely able to understand what Sherlock was saying. He'd waited for this for so long and was stuck in the mind-set that if he opened his eyes he'd wake up from a wonderful dream.

Sherlock picked up John, who wrapped his legs around his curved back with a feeling of complete security, by the waist and laid him on his back, legs in the air, ready to rest on Sherlock's shoulders, whilst still playing his fingers over John's cock.

He leaned over a final time a placed a kiss on John's lips, whilst putting the first lubed finger into his anus. John hissed, digging his fingers into Sherlock's back, features flashing with pleasure, beginning to enjoy the long index finger sliding in and out of him. Sherlock pushed deeper, deep as he could go. He squeaked slightly as the second finger slipped in, and wondered how he'd manage a whole penis inside him, especially Sherlock's; not too thick but longer than the average male member. Sherlock began to use a scissoring motion, trying to loosen John up, remove the tightness around his fingers. John arched his back, twisting with legs parted wide. John bit his lips, closing his eyes and moving his hips in time to Sherlock's fingers.

'John, relax.' Sherlock soothed, feeling John tense around him. He smiled the most reassuring smile he could muster and felt him relax under him. 'Good boy.'

'Sherlock, please, just do it.' John moaned, tired of all the pressure inside him.

He didn't need telling twice, pulling out his fingers slowly. John watched as he rubbed lube along the shaft of his penis and began to lower himself down. Just the head first, the fit completely off, seemingly impossible to squeeze it into such a small place. Sherlock aligned himself, brushing his hard cock up John's ass. He forced himself inside, air leaving his lungs with the effort of it and the pressure that was applied against him and John. Sherlock pushed, unsure of what to do from this point. He thrusted experimentally, earning a series of moans with laboured breath. It was too tight, Sherlock could barely move inside him, himself too hard and John too tight. Sherlock looked at John hopelessly before shoving himself into John, slipping in and out until slick, stretching John to his limit, making him want to shout for Sherlock to stop but the words not reaching his mouth. He clenched his jaw instead, trying to adjust as Sherlock's whole length slid inside him. John thrusted upwards, rolling his hips in time with Sherlock's. He jolted, muscles squeezing around Sherlock, making him gasp. Sherlock aimed in that direction again, catching on that he'd hit something inside John.

A moan escaped John's lips, so loud he had to cover his mouth with his hands and bite the flesh. He couldn't stop himself from shaking; He felt so vulnerable, so primal, and more than anything ___so right_. Sherlock was leaning over him, alternating from the bed to John's hips, a series of overwhelmed grunts leaving his mouth while he thrusted, eyes closed. With one hand on the bed he put the other on John's cock and began to wank him off, rubbing along the shaft in time with his thrusts. John pushed his head back, moaning louder, revealing his neck to Sherlock, who pushed his head forward and sucked the unmarked skin.

'Harder.' John whimpered. 'Fucking harder.' He screamed, reaching around and digging his fingernails into Sherlock's back. He needed this, he needed all of Sherlock inside him as deep as he could go. Sherlock hesitated for a moment before going faster and deeper into John. Still not hard enough though.

'Sherlock, fuck me.' John growled, and Sherlock began to thrust into him faster than he thought was possible. The whole bed shook, squeaking angrily as his cock slid in and out of John. So dirty when he fucked, so animalistic.

John arched his back, finding the perfect angle, Sherlock hitting his prostate spot on with each lift of his hips.

'John, I can't do this much longer.' Sherlock grunted, his eyes fluttering shut.

John grinded into Sherlock, trying to make him come before he did. It worked, Sherlock leaning down and wrapping his arms around John and pulling him as close to him as possible as stars clouded his vision. John could pinpoint the exact moment Sherlock came inside him, and it felt hot and wet and only pushed him further towards the edge.

'Oh, fuck, John.' He panted, catching his breath before burying his head between John's thighs and finishing him off, whilst John pulled his hair and shouted profanities at him. Sherlock stuck a finger up John as he sucked his balls and traced patterns on his cock with his tongue.

He came right into Sherlock's mouth, who promptly swallowed and continued on Johns cock, leaving behind kisses and gentle licks, not fully satisfied that John was finished, wanting John to ride it out.

'Sherlock.' John whimpered lost for words. That was the best orgasm of his life, and it was given to him by his best friend. He panted as he watched Sherlock reappear from between his legs, evidence of his semen on his lip. He wiped it away with his index finger and sucked it off, his eyes never leaving John.

'Come here.' John said softly. Then they kissed a final time before Sherlock got up and draped his duvet over John.

'Where are you going?' John whispered, all energy depleted and brow furrowed.

Sherlock just smiled at him, cleaning himself up in the bathroom and re-entering the room, snuggling up with John under the duvet, not giving a shit that his pristine sheets were covered in semen. He held John, arms wrapped around his waist, wanting to feel his hot skin on his. John turned over, deciding he'd be the little spoon that night, Sherlock breathing little nothings into his neck. He fell asleep to the sound of Sherlock's heartbeat on his back, tiny snores and snuffles echoing slightly around the room.

He untangled himself from John and got up, with sleepy protests from John who he smiled at and kissed on the forehead, telling him he was going for a piss, watching him as he fell back to sleep and then getting redressed, before leaving both 221b, and John in a state of content.

When John woke up he turned to the empty side of the bed, curling his fingers around empty space and sighing. He got up, draping Sherlock's dressing gown around him and called his name.

No reply. Sherlock had been gone for hours.

**[edited]**


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm sorry that took a while to write, thank flamesofamonster for the help she gave me, otherwise i would have given up completely. also i'm sorry for what i've done this chapter :)**

**[edited]**

'Where'd you go?' John said quietly leaning against the door frame, arms crossed as Sherlock let himself in. After the nights previous events, John had woken shortly after Sherlock's departure and waited for him to return, turning over to feel the cool, unslept in space. He felt alone for a moment, unsettled in body and mind. He fell asleep between the sheets, full of post coital bliss and bitter disappointment when it became obvious that Sherlock wasn't going to come back.

'Out.' Sherlock replied curtly, a dismissive tone in his voice, stepping around him.

'Don't you want to talk?'

'What's there to talk about?' Sherlock shrugged, taking off his coat and scarf and putting them in the closet. He walked through to the kitchen. 'I'm hungry, do we have anything in?' He turned at stared at John, an obnoxious look that John hated.

'You are seriously not doing this.' John said, shaking his head in disbelief. 'Last night, did you forget what happened?'

'No I-.'

'No, you listen, I'm speaking. Did that mean nothing, do I mean nothing? Because I don't even know if you're the same person as you were last night, I mean, it's quite invasive you know, pretty personal, some bodies dick up your ass.' Flecks of spit shot from his mouth as John yelled at the taller man.

'You mean everything.' Sherlock said simply, a small smile forming, cocking his head to the side.

John was taken aback, not that he'd show it, by the tone of Sherlock's voice, kind and yet dark, oddly terrifying to say the least.

It made him think back to Sherlock's earlier comments, of dominance being a turn on for him. After years on service in the military, commanding people and always being the one in control it was just nice to not be the one in the driving seat for once. To be driven.

'I went out for a drink, to think about things.' Sherlock said, remembering John's earlier question, feeling slightly guilty that he'd been so off-handed before.

'You never drink, not in bars.'

John was having a hard time trying to figure out Sherlock recently, not that he'd been able to do it before. But usually there'd be brief signs in his face of what he was feeling, and right now quite frankly he looked off his face, eyes not focusing on anything in particular, darting around the flat.

John stepped forward and lifted Sherlock's sleeve. Just as he'd thought, nicotine patches. Four of them.

'Jesus, four?' he said, a slight hint of panic in his voice as he dropped Sherlock's arm.

'It's a four patch problem.' he smirked. 'Or rather you're a four patch problem.'

'I wish it'd never happened.' John sighed, shrugging and turning and heading off to his room. He wasn't sure why, maybe he could blog about his sex with Sherlock that night, tell his fan base that it was the best night of his life. Tell them that Sherlock Holmes was a magnificent lover and he would recommend it to anyone, nine and a half stars out of ten as long as you could deal with rejection in the morning, and an unexplained explanation of where he went afterwards. Or maybe he could just go to sleep, or he could paint Sherlock's face on the wall and shoot at it. He could do a number of things, but quite frankly all John Watson wanted to do was curl up on top of the covers and sleep. He felt like everything had changed.

Self loathing didn't even begin to cover it and so he did what he always did when he was put in stressful situations; he put on his best shirt, most expensive cologne, and went to find somebody else. Someone better. Sherlock was a main course, time for dessert.

He decided against going to a club, too many young people grinding against each other, he'd stick out like a sore thumb. So John went to his favourite pub instead, knowing there'd be women there having an after-work drink. He slid into his usual bar stool, ordering a drink and turning slightly to the right to see his options for the night. He wished Sherlock was with him. He'd be able to say whether a woman was single, whether she was an easy shag. Then he remembered that he was the problem and took back his words. He sipped his pint as he chose his target. He was deliberating between two women, one with a tight green dress, busty, middle-aged, asking for it really judging by the way she leaned over the table at her friends. She knew John was watching her and she was playing along, twirling her long hair around her finger, a childish act for what John assumed to be a mature lady. The other seemed quite mousey and not at all his type, but she was definitely giving John the eye.

Green dress moved quickly though and was sitting next to John before the other woman could even think about it. John smiled to himself, he still had it.

"Hello," The woman grinned, leaning forward slightly so John could see down her top.

John turned to look at her, eyes moving to her face. "Hi."

"Come here often?" Another twirl of her hair.

"Whenever I have the time." He replied.

"Do you have anyone taking up your time?"

The image of Sherlock naked popped into his head. "No."

"Would you like someone to be taking up your time?"

John smirked into his beer glass. "What were you thinking we could do?"

The woman flicked her hair over her shoulders, giving John a playful smile. "I don't mind. You look like an intelligent man, I'm sure we could have a long conversation about some political thing."

"Or?" John asked.

"Or we could get up to something a little more physical." She threw him a wink before hopping off her stool and out of the door.

'Oh like tennis?' John laughed to himself, following her.

They struggled to keep their hands off each other on the cab ride home, John aching to rip her clothes off. He definitely wasn't gay.

He put his hands on her hips as he guided her up the stairs to the shared flat.

'John, is that you?' Mrs Hudson called up the stairs, dressing gown and fluffy slipper clad, hands wrapped around a mug of tea.

'Yes, Mrs Hudson.' John mumbled, turning his head and grinning at her. He could tell she disapproved of his 'date'. Quiet frankly so did he. 'Better wear a condom.' he thought to himself, didn't know what she'd picked up in her time.

'What is that your mother?' The woman whispered. He didn't even know her name.

Making sure Mrs. Hudson had gone back to her flat he shook his head and pushed her against the wall.

'What's your name by the way?' He asked finally, running his hand up her leg, desperately close to her.

'Megan.' she breathed.

'Right.' He once dated a girl named Megan, back in university. Smart with unruly hair and a passion for the internet. She quit the course though before they could get serious, deciding medicine wasn't really for her. He visited her once but it seemed she had moved on. John wondered if it was the same girl. Probably not, he would've recognised her.

He noticed they'd been on the stairs for a while now, and grabbed her hand, pulling her up to the flat.

He opened the door with a skilled hand, whilst the other wandered. He got in a turned on the light, and jumped, seeing Sherlock sprawled on the sofa, laptop on lap. Sherlock looked up slowly, registering John. And his new 'friend' who was currently trying to cup his balls. She winked at him. His face dropped and his snapped the laptop shut, before getting up and going to his room, slamming the door behind him.

'What's his problem?' Megan asked, sucking John's neck.

'Nothing, come on.' he said, leading her to his bedroom. 'Hey, sorry but can you do something for me?'

Through paper thin walls Sherlock heard everything. The grunting, the bed squeaking, her screams of 'Oh John that's so good.' He tried reading, covering his ears from the deafening moans next door, but even if he escaped the sounds coming from outside he couldn't escape the noises in his head. The voice telling him that he didn't really mean anything to John, that he was worthless. He'd never be as good as a woman because ultimately, John wasn't even gay. Neither was Sherlock. He wasn't really anything. He'd never be what John wanted. He squeezed his eyes together tightly, so hard it hurt, just to prevent tears from dropping silently down his cheeks. He hadn't cried, not for years. Emotions were irrelevant, but uncontrollable. He gulped back air and buried his head in his hands. He got up, ran his fingers through his hair, punched the wall, read the periodic table. He was annoyed mainly that John could be so inconsiderate.

'Stop it.' he told himself, pulling at his hair so it hurt.

He was really trying to not let emotion win, never so affected by a person in his life, sadness throbbing through his whole body so he ached. At first he thought what he had with John was just sexual frustration but it'd become so much more than that, spiralling as more and more cases were solved.

He sat on the end of the bed and waited for John and that strumpet to stop. He heard her orgasm. He heard John orgasm. He told himself that he was better than she was and John was exaggerating just to be polite.

'I hope he gets an STI.' he muttered, smiling darkly at the thought. Hardly though, he was a doctor after all. The irony.

He creeped out of his room, snatching his violin from by the window and taking it back to his room. He opened up the window, allowing the night to consume him, a haunted song dancing into the dark ink sky. John could hear it from where he lay and he swore to himself that everything was okay.

Sherlock fell asleep fully clothed, face wet, and swore to himself that after this day he'd never feel anything for anyone again.

John checked in on him that night, after making sure Megan was on her way home in a taxi. He glanced at the damp patch on Sherlock's pillow and for the first time that night felt slightly guilty, if not startled, he didn't think Sherlock was even capable of tears, ducts removed at birth. He looked so peaceful in his sleep, and all John wanted to do was get into the bed with him and trace his face watching him wake up in the morning, smile at him and make him breakfast.

Then he realised the damage he'd done to him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Quite a short chapter, hope you like it though ;)**

**Credit again to flamesofamonster for being fab and giving me the idea of drunk sherlock amongst other things**

**[edited]**

'Look John, is everything okay with you and Sherlock?' Greg Lestrade said quietly as he watched Sherlock buzz around the crime scene. It was normal for Sherlock to do so but there was an undisputable lack of effort in his work.

'Oh you noticed that?' John replied, a slight hint of sadness in his voice. He'd beaten himself up over that night, endlessly wishing that he hadn't done such a stupid thing to his best friend. He wasn't thinking. He never thought.

'What happened?'

'Long story short I made a mistake.' John said, looking at the ground as Sherlock walked over to them. 'Don't we all.' Greg replied, shrugging. John guessed he was talking about his wife.

'Right, we're done here, arrest the pensioner if he has an axe, actually arrest him anyway, he grows marijuana plants in his garage.' He walked away, hailing for a taxi.

'He's upset.' Greg commented.

'He has every right to be, look I'll catch up with you later.' John said over his shoulder. He decided he'd walk home, the crime scene being only a few blocks away. He'd rather not share another awkward cab ride with Sherlock. They hadn't even looked at each other on the way there.

He stopped in the park and sat himself down on a bench. He looked enviously over at a young couple who were over by the pond feeding the ducks, laughing as the ducks dipped their heads under the water and waddled their webbed feet in the air as if riding invisible bicycles. He wished he'd found somebody earlier on, had a childhood sweetheart, got married in Gretna Green, worked in an office doing paperwork and sucking up to a boss he hated, found someone to love forever and to grow old with. Instead he left his girlfriend, joined the army and lost all his years helping the injured, only to be shot himself. Not to worry, he thought, they'll hate each other by the time they're old enough to realise what love really is.

He pulled out his phone and composed a text.

John could see her from a mile off, wearing a bright pink coat and stumbling on huge heels. She plonked herself next to him, 'plonked' being the right word as she could barely walk.

'He bought it you know.' he said, not looking at her.

'I did a good job.' She smiled through red lips.

'No, it's hurt him too much, I didn't think-'

'It was your idea, just because you're frigid.'

'I'm not frigid.' John huffed. If a person were to describe John Watson frigid was definitely not the word to use.

Megan turned to face him.

'Not frigid? You chickened out last moment.' She raised an eyebrow.

'Fuck you, you were aware of the situation.'

'Yeah and that's why I played along. Banging the walls and screaming your name? Doubt you could make me do that.' She smirked, touching John's knee playfully.

'You have no idea.' John replied instantly, shaking his head. 'Anyway, seems we both went too far.'

'I am known to over-act.' She shrugged.

'I shouldn't have done it though, or rather we shouldn't have.'

'So tell him the truth, you told me.' Megan said, getting up. 'Any time you're _not_ feeling frigid though, call me, or are you definitely gay now?'

John scoffed, crossing his arms to his chest.

John watched her saunter off and get into a car.

…

'Sherlock, we need to talk.' John shouted as he raced up the stairs to the flat.

He opened the door, ready for the judging, hurt looks from Sherlock to find that he wasn't in.

He didn't know whether this was a blessing or just the stalling of the inevitable. He shrugged it off and got out his laptop, ready to blog about the case Sherlock solved that day. He didn't know whether to gush about Sherlock's genius like he usually did, or keep it simple and just state the case and how he solved it. He went to the kitchen and made himself a mug of tea before he began.

"_...Sherlock eventually came to the conclusion that it was 89 year old Fritz Haber that killed her accidentally with an uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu..._

'Get off the keyboard Sherlock.' John snapped, picking up the laptop and putting it far away from him.

'No, you write nonsense anyway.' Sherlock slurred, going to sit down and missing the chair entirely.

'Oh for God's sake, how much have you had?' John sniped.

Of course he was wasted, drinking away his sorrows. 'You've been smoking too.'

'Not a lot you bastard.' Sherlock retorted, still not quite able to find the chair.

John raised his eyebrows.

'I hate you.' Sherlock spat. He looked rough, hair dishevelled and coat askew. How did he even manage to get himself in such a state. Manipulated someone into serving him so many drinks? Or maybe he'd just bought a bottle of something and sat somewhere, steadily draining it.

'Yeah, so do I.'

'I didn't though John, I loved you, and I still do.'

'What are you saying Sherlock?'

'Idiot.'

'Yeah.' John agreed.

Sherlock leapt forward with all the grace of a gazelle on acid.

'Let's fuck John, right here.' He pulled John into an embrace. 'Though of course it won't mean anything will it?'

'Not now Sherlock, you don't know what you're saying.'

'Yes I do, I always do.' He replied casually, taking off his scarf and draping it clumsily around John's shoulders. 'It's you who's the idiot. I'm a precious gem, the lady in the park said so.'

John's face softened.

'Come on.' he said gently, taking Sherlock by the elbow and guiding him to his bedroom.

'You've had some cocaine haven't you?' John said as he tucked Sherlock in his bed, fixed in the recovery position so he wouldn't find a dead detective in the morning.

'Hm.' Sherlock nodded. 'Dealer missed me.'

John kneeled next to him, arms resting on the bed.

'I'm sorry Sherlock, so, so sorry.' He said closing his eyes for a moment and rubbing his temples. 'You know we didn't even do anything, we just made noise-'

John was cut off by Sherlock's lips on his own.

'You forgive me then?'

Sherlock nodded. 'Go.' His eyes flicked up to the door then promptly closed.

'Goodnight then.' John smiled as he left his room. There was still lots explaining to do on both sides but until the morning John could sleep happily.

**Wehey, yayay, things are okay again! idek.**


	5. Chapter 5

**i know i always thank her but seriously, THANK YOU FLAMESOFAMONSTER I WOULD BE A SOBBING WRECK WITHOUT YOU. **

**yeah, so she pretty much wrote this whole chapter, so go read her stories, they're very good i promise.**

**Enjoy and review please, i enjoy your feedback :)**

'I bought you tea.' John said quietly as he opened Sherlock's door. The room was a mess, and apparently Sherlock had been searching for cigarettes to undergo a late night smoke, out of the window so John wouldn't suspect.

'Could you not talk so loud?' Sherlock yawned, screwing up his face and hiding under the duvet.

'Please don't make me come in there.' John laughed, putting his tea down on the side.

Sherlocks eyes peeped out from under the sheets, the wonderful shade of blue, green, grey and yellow that he always had in the morning.

'You can if you'd like?' he said stretching out his hand.

John took it and grasped desperately onto Sherlock.

'God, my head hurts.' Sherlock groaned, rubbing his temples. John moved forward and pressed his forehead against Sherlocks lightly for a moment.

'I'll get you a cold flannel and some toast.'

'No, not yet, stay.' Sherlock pouted, pulling John even closer to him.

'Well no offence Sherlock, but you need a shower.'

'Have one with me?' Sherlock purred, finding John's cock and stroking him gently through pyjama bottoms.

'Why can't you ever behave?'

'It's not in my nature.' Sherlock shrugged, rolling out of his bed quite literally, then popping back up.

'Well feel free to join me at any time.' He patted John on the head and downed his tea in one, before closing the door behind him leaving John in his bed wondering when they were actually going to talk about what happened.

He snuggled up in the sheets for a moment, trying to get the last of Sherlocks warmth, then padded to the living room. He made sure to hover by the bathroom on his way; the door slightly open as a sign of invitation that John was to decline. Sherlock didn't seem to mind though as he whistled Bach whilst he showered, his hangover apparently gone.

John went and made a cup of tea before sitting down and watching tv, something he hadn't done for a long time. He flicked over to the news.

'Nonsense.' Sherlock said abruptly, making John jump.

'Yeah?'

'Yes.'

He changed the channel again. Soap opera.

'Boring.'

Again. Documentary on jellyfish.

'Oh!'

He leaned on the back of John's chair and kissed John's neck lightly, his skin warm.

He sighed loudly, rolling his eyes.

'Turn off the telly, this is aimed at idiots, jellyfish appeared six hundred and fifty million years ago, not one hundred million and as in 16 languages the word for jellyfish is Medusa we shouldn't even call them jellyfish. I mean they aren't even fish, they're Cnidaria.' Sherlock snapped at the tv, gradually getting louder and angrier as his rant went on.

'Come on, we'll go for a walk then.' John said, taking the remote from Sherlock.

'Fine, I'd better put on some clothes then.'

John squeaked slightly and turned around to see Sherlock smirking.

'You looked.'

He turned on his heel and went to his bedroom, dropping his towel on the journey. He didn't need to check if John was watching as he already knew his line of sight would be transfixed on his bare behind.

When he came out John was standing at the doorway in his coat.

'You're wearing that shirt.' John commented.

'So?'

'I thought you were meant to be the observant one?'

Sherlock frowned, then closed his eyes for a moment.

'Oh. No, you're not doing your mind palace thing.' John warned.

'I wore it when we first had sex.' Sherlock said simply.

John looked him in the eye. 'Yes.'

'I happen to quite like this shirt.' Sherlock said. 'Brings back memories.'

John raised his eyebrows. The memories of that night? They still needed to talk. Sherlock seemed more at ease with him, flirting amongst other things, but John was not sleeping with him until it was resolved.

They stepped out of the flat and walked across the road until they reached the local park. John watched Sherlock from the corner of his eye, and Sherlock watched what was going on around them, looking rather similar to an over excited labrador.

They sat on a bench, which John remembered as the bench he had sat on and complained that no-one would want to share a flat with him. Shortly afterwards, he'd met Sherlock and his life had changed forever.

'Like I said yesterday, I didn't really have sex with that woman.' John said suddenly, breaking the silence.

'Was she a random harlot you picked off the streets? I didn't know you had these sort of schemes buried deep inside, John. It's rather intriguing.

'I was going to, have sex with her, I mean. But I couldn't, because of you. But I wanted to make you understand that I was angry and...'  
John looked to his right and watched a little boy fly his kite. Then the children on the playground. There lives were so much easier. He bet when they grew up they wouldn't make stupid decisions like him. None of them would grow up to see the things he'd seen.

'It was the wrong thing to do. I know it hurt you, and for that I am sorry. I love you. But you almost tore my ruddy heart out when you left.'

Sherlock was silent, and John turned his head back to the man. Sherlock placed his hand on top of John's and squeezed it gently. John raised his eyebrows - Sherlock rarely ever showed affection. Maybe he was changing him.

'I understand. I just needed time to think. It was mind-blowing, the sex. I just haven't done anything like that in a long time and I knew that once it happened, I would never be able to let you go. I get attached to few things in my life and you appear to be one of them.' Sherlock looked at John. 'I would like us to resume what we had that night. Minus the leaving at the end of the night.'

John breathed a sigh of relief. 'I'd like that too.'  
They kissed, a small gentle kiss, nothing but sweet, on the park bench, before Sherlock resumed his normal stoic pose.

'Does this mean we're in a relationship?' John asked.

'Well this is what they normally call these sort of connections , John. This is strange for me, though. I have never been in a situation like this.'  
'What, a relationship?' John asked and Sherlock nodded briskly. 'Then I'll guess I'll have to teach you a thing or two...'


	6. Chapter 6

'But I hate restaurants.' Sherlock whined as he and John got out of the taxi. He'd been complaining all afternoon about various things, mainly Mrs Hudson cleaning and disinfecting his culture of bacteria. 'They were at their peak!.' he'd yelled when he found out, then went to his bedroom and sulked for a while until John forced him out with promises he'd have to keep after the meal.

'But why?' John exasperated, looking to the sky for guidance.

'People John.' Sherlock said loudly, rolling his eyes.

'I'm a person.' John remarked quietly, biting the inside of his cheek as they entered the restaurant.

'You're different. You don't count.'

'Oh don't I? We have a table booked under the name Watson.' John said turning his attention to the waitress. He eyed her up slightly, forgetting for a moment that he had a boyfriend. Shewas pretty, probably too young for John, although he had been known to pick up types who were into that sort of thing.

'Okay Mr. Watson you're table is ready if you'd like to follow me.'

'Quick service.' John muttered, nodding slightly at Sherlock who pulled a face in response.

They sat down somewhat awkwardly, not sure whether to show signs of affection in public at this stage.

'Oh look John, there's a candle on the table.' Sherlock smiled. 'But of course you're not actually gay.'

John raised his eyebrows. 'Oh really, I think we can disprove that theory later.'

'Hi I'm Jen, I'll be your server tonight.'

John smiled genuinely at her and Sherlock faked a small smile for John's sake.

'Can I get you something to drink?'

'No.' Sherlock muttered, furrowing his brows as John kicked him under the table.

'What wine would you recommend?' John asked, sliding into flirt mode. Bad habit.

'Um Chardonnay?'

'Sounds good.'

She skittered away.

'Oh come on she obviously knows nothing about wine, she offered Chardonnay, the most common type of white wine, no wine knowledge needed to suggest it, she was trying to impress you.' Sherlock sighed, resting his elbows on the table.

'Come on then, tell me all about her.' John said, copying his body language.

'Really, I thought it annoyed you?' he replied, raising an eyebrow.

'I actually find it to be quite a turn on.' John shrugged, blushing slightly.

'Oh, well in that case she's desperate, I can tell by her posture, says 'I haven't been fucked for years' , but she has a man in her life judging by the way she keeps going off to the side and checking her phone, that or one of her parents is in hospital and she's waiting for information. Probably not the latter though as her eyes would be tinged red from crying as she's close to her parents. Also because her parents are eating here tonight much to her discomfort, that couple over there.' Sherlock said smugly, indicating to an elderly couple in a booth who kept glancing over at their daughter. 'She has two cats going by the length and depth of the scratches on her arm, but only likes one of them considering its not both of them on her phone wallpaper. She's only doing this job on the side, studying architecture at night school going by the veins in her wrist and the pencil smudges on the side of her little finger.'

John shook his head, smiling. 'Love that.'

'You're the first.' Sherlock remarked, reading the menu.

She came back with the wine and two glasses.

'Can I take your orders?'

'Yeah can I just get the carbonara?' John said handing her the menu. He eyed up the scratches on her arm, messily covered. How did he manage to notice things like that?

The waitress looked at Sherlock expectantly.

He frowned slightly.

'Pizza.'

'What type would-'

'Just pizza, any type.' Sherlock snapped.

She blinked a couple of times before leaving the table.

'I know you're eating for my sake but could you not get lippy with the waitress?' John scalded, looking disapprovingly at Sherlock.

Sherlock crossed his arms. 'Fine.'

'There's a good boy, drink up, I want to get you frisky.' John's eyes flicked to Sherlock's wine glass. 'Actually on second thoughts don't, I remember your drunk state.'

'Already am.' He held John's hand on the table. They entwined fingers

A tall figure appeared at their table.

'Look, I'm here with my family, could you go be gay somewhere else because we don't want to see it.'

John stood up.

'Excuse me?'

'You heard me mate, I don't want to see you two practically bumming on the table, there are children here.'

'Firstly I'm not your mate, and secondly no, were not 'bumming' on the table and were definitely not harming anyone., were just trying to have a meal like everyone else here.' John retorted, looking the man up and down, his family looking embarrassed in the background. His wife got up. 'No love sit back down.' he barked at her.

'I don't see a problem.' John stated, looking the guy in the eye even though he was considerably larger.

'You and your freak of a boyfriend are the problem.'

'Imbecile.' Sherlock said calmly, looking up from his phone.

'What?'

'Oh right, you haven't reached that stage of evolution yet.' Sherlock said, resting his head in his hands, rather bored of the whole situation.

'Just sit back down, nobody else seems to mind.' John said, putting a hand on the guys shoulder.

'Don't touch me, I don't want to catch it.'

'Alright that's it.' John barked lunging forward to punch the man, square in the face, the silence of the eagerly awaiting restaurant shattered by a broken nose. He man growled, blood dripping from his nostrils, swinging himself forwards to hit back, his aims met by the air as John ducked.

'Come on Sherlock.' John smiled, grabbing his hand and walking out.

'Well done John, very threatening.' Sherlock grinned, squeezing his hand 'Though I can look after myself.'

'He was a dick head.'

Sherlock nodded. 'He was very insecure, he had a mirror in his back pocket.'

'Come on, home, I don't know about you but I could really go for a shag.'

**Sorry this was somewhat a filler chapter c:**

**Not many words so I may edit this one in a few days.**

**reviewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww my precious. **


	7. Chapter 7

**As hard as I try I cannot make John and Sherly be romantic, it's just not in me...**

John and Sherlock sat on the sofa, both upright with laptops resting on their laps. No words passed their lips as they got on with their tasks in hand; John blogging and Sherlock researching the effects of chlorine on plant life.

Even though they both knew they were going to have sex tonight they were in no rush.

Sherlock got up and went to his lab equipment on the table, putting goggles on and sitting down.

'Don't get too involved Sherlock, it's getting late.' John commented, not looking up from the screen.

Sherlock hummed in response, not listening to a word.

'It's put the pH off balance.' he said to himself. 'Too alkaline for the plants to survive.'

'Why did you take a case on plants dying at a botanical garden and not the one with the disappearing child?' John asked, brows furrowed, looking up for a moment.

'Boring, she just got tired of her mediocre life and ran away, but plants...' he paused and wrote something down. '...Plants are interesting.'

John glanced over at him. 'Could you please not destroy my cactus plants?' he asked, dumping the laptop and rescuing his plant.

'All in the name of science.'

John bent over and kissed Sherlocks jawline. 'You'll be the death of me.'

Sherlock laughed quietly and kissed him back, grabbing his shirt and pulling him closer. He pushed the chair back and pulled John onto his lap. John grinded into Sherlock as they kissed, lifting his hips and earning a series of moans for his trouble. 'No, you'll be the death of me.' Sherlock whimpered into John's lips.

'That punch earlier.' Sherlock started, his voice low. 'You have no idea how much it turned me on.'

'Oh?' John feigned innocence to it.

Sherlock pressed his forehead against John's and slipped a hand down Johns boxers, rubbing him into an erection.

'Come on John, self control, don't want you coming yet.' Sherlock breathed into his ear, sending shivers down his back.

It was extremely hot for John, his boyfriend looking him right in the eye as he played with his cock, panting into each other, never losing eye contact.

John moaned loudly, finding himself too close to the edge. He slid himself off Sherlocks lap and got down on his knees between Sherlocks spread legs.

'Stand up.' he ordered.

'Did you just use your army voice?' Sherlock asked, obeying orders and getting up off the chair.

John nodded. 'Now drop your trousers.'

'Okay!'

'Wait, I'll do it myself.' John barked, stopping Sherlocks hands and slipping off his trousers. He kissed his cock through his cotton underwear, then pushed him backwards onto the chair. He rubbed Sherlock through his boxers, getting him hard, then wriggled them off so they dropped at his ankles.

John curled his fingers around Sherlock's length, starting off teasingly slow then picking up the pace as Sherlock began to lose control.

'Come on Sherlock, self control, don't want you coming yet.' John mimicked.

'It's fucking hard to have control when you're working wonders on me.' Sherlock groaned, tipping his head back and having some difficulty getting his words out.

John chuckled and without warning put Sherlocks cock in his mouth whole, releasing a guttural moan from him.

Sherlock grabbed the back of Johns head, pushing him back and forth on his shaft, trying not to make John gag. He stopped and let John take control again, in which he left kisses on the underside of |Sherlocks cock as well as tiny licks. He then sucked the head, swallowing pre-cum.

'Come on, bedroom.' Sherlock purred, finding himself grounded again.

John stood up and grabbed Sherlocks hand, pulling him to his bedroom. They always had sex in Sherlocks room. Whatever was going on John and Sherlock made time for sex, once a day, ranging from five minute fucks to all night adventures where everything was prolonged and romantic, whilst the quickies were fast and dirty. It'd all become a habit.

As soon as they got in the room Sherlock had John on the bed, ripping off his clothes, not patient enough to wait. Sherlock didn't have time to ask before John was on all fours, back arched, ass in the air. He didn't need so much finger work any more, already looser but Sherlock still did it, just for the build up. Instead of hissing John now moaned as Sherlock used a scissoring action, and promptly slid in without warning, holding Johns hips for support, using them to push himself back and forth. He unbuttoned his shirt as he did so.

'Mmm.' John groaned quietly to himself, wanking himself off before Sherlock took over.

Sherlock grunted as he slid in and out, alternating angles every so often, trying to make John come before he did. He went faster and deeper, releasing sounds from John he didn't know existed, making him hold onto the headboard as Sherlock rammed him from behind. Sherlock leaned forward, kissing John's back delicately.

John pushed his hips back in response to Sherlocks thrusts, the two of them working in perfect unison.

Sherlock stopped and flipped John onto his front, wanting to look him in the eye as he fucked him, before sliding back in, finding pleasure in John's expressions. John lifted his legs over Sherlocks shoulders giving him better access, whilst Sherlock played with his penis. John ran his fingers through Sherlocks hair, curling it around his fingers and pulling.

'I'm can't hold on much longer Sherlock.' John whimpered, biting his lip. At this Sherlock pushed harder, separating John's cheeks with his hands, desperate for him to come. Sweat glistened on his chest.

Sherlock bent down and kissed John on the lips just as he came, releasing a moan into his mouth.

Sherlock carried on, soon coming himself, straight into Johns ass. He watched John as he lay, legs still spread, panting on the bed. Sherlock joined him, kissing him again softly as he could. He wrapped the stained sheets around them.

'John?'

'Yeah Sherlock?'

'Do you ever miss sex with women?' He rested on his elbow, genuinely interested in Johns response.

'No, sex with you is better.' He looked at the ceiling. 'Sex with you means something.'

Sherlock nodded and lay back down.

'Do you want to be the big spoon or the little one?' John asked.

'Big spoon.' Sherlock said without hesitation, turning over and wrapping his arms round John.

They lay in silence.

'John?'

'Yeah?'

'I love you.'

John rolled over to look at Sherlock.

'I love you too.'

Then sleep and contempt took over and a strange silence filled 221b.

**thank you to everybody who's reviewed so far, and all those to review in the future **


	8. Chapter 8

**Sooo I've been in some kind of baking fit this week, leading to this chapter. If you don't know what the great british bake off is its basically a baking show down, involving magic, blood and idek james and his gingerbread barn. I seriously miss it being on my tv every week.**

John entered the living room to see Sherlock sprawled on the sofa watching tv in his boxers, hips peeking out leaving two teasing gaps between the material and his skin. Sherlock was pale, it worried John. He mentally planned tanning him in the dead of night.

He went to the kitchen and made two cups of tea, handing one to Sherlock and huddling over his own as he pushed Sherlocks excessively long legs aside and squished next to him. Sherlock put his mug on the side, engrossed by the screen.

'What are you watching that's so interesting?' John asked trying to figure it out, some sort of cooking programme from the look of it.

'Great British bake off, don't speak.'

John raised his eyebrows and sighed, curling his fingers around his cup, before Sherlock wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled John into him, sensing a disturbance in the force.

'Wait a minute!' John squeaked, putting down his mug on the floor and snuggling into Sherlock properly. Signs of affection from Sherlock barely lasted very long and so John made the most of them when they arose.

'We should use the riding crop next time.' Sherlock said quietly in Johns ear. John made noises of agreement, concentrating on the screen where a contestant was making a bike made of pastry.

'He combines science with cooking, I like him.' Sherlock remarked, drinking his tea.

'How many episodes have you watched today?' John asked, noticing that Sherlocks eyes were slightly blood shot.

'Nine.'

'Jesus, you don't do things by halves do you?'

'Hmm, you can turn it off, I already know who wins.' Sherlock said, standing up and dusting himself down.

'How could you? By the angle they knead dough? Something about the way the Paul Hollywood dissects their bake?' John said, quite excited by his answer.

'Actually I googled it, this series aired last year.'

'Oh, now where are you going?' John sighed into his mug.

Sherlock ignored him, going to get dresssed then putting his coat on and leaving the flat.

John carried on watching, getting into it, so much that he didn't notice Sherlock come back in, laden with bags, throwing things around in the kitchen.

'Oh good, you went shopping, did you take my list?' John asked, unpacking the carriers.

'No.'

'And you just bought baking stuff.' John sighed, sitting at the table, shoulders slumped. 'Of course you did.'

'I'm experimenting.'

'I'd rather this than severed fingers I suppose.' He remarked, resting his head in his hands, watching Sherlock potter about, making a mess in the most scientific way possible. He had his laptop on the side, various recipes in various tabs, clicking back and forth between them.

It was unnatural, seeing Sherlock in his suit, covered head to toe in flour, fingers encrusted with dough, it was meant to be the other way round, John assuming he was the doting wife in the equation, someone for Sherlock to come home to and give all his love to.

Sherlock grinned as he took his third attempt of scones out of the oven, only slightly burnt.

He presented them to John.

'I'm getting better!' he said, quite excitedly.

'Well done.' John replied as enthusiastically as he could muster, knowing he'd be the one washing all of this up later on.

Sherlock smiled in approval, the same smile that made him want to give Sherlock the world, when his eyes crinkled and he exhaled through his nose. He always remebered that smile because it was rare, but recently becoming more and more common. John guessed it was due to the fact that he was finally getting laid.

A couple of hours later and Sherlock had made two loaves of bread, and multiple batches of cupcakes and was now concentrating on icing them, hunched over the cooling rack on the kitchen table.

'You're shaking the table!' Sherlock exasperated, steadying his cakes.

'I'll get out of your hair then.' John laughed, starting on the washing up. He should have been angry that Sherlock had become so obsessive, but after thinking of all the things it could be instead of baking, John decided it could've been worse, and after all the results of his latest experiment had proven to be pretty good, and overall delicious. The only thing John could complain about was that Sherlock had used all of his jam.

'Oh good, you're eating something.' John commented as Sherlock picked at a freshly decorated cake.

'John don't you think it's strange that we have sex and it's all very dirty, but then we leave the bedroom and we turn to this?' Sherlock questioned, putting down his cake and looking at john expectantly.

'No, we can't just fuck everywhere, bedrooms exist for a reason.'

'Right, but what's stopping us from doing it on the table?'

'We eat there Sherlock.'

Sherlock let it drop and went to his room, closing the door behind him softly and remaining there until John knocked an hour or so later when the music coming from inside became too loud.

'Never thought of you as an AC/DC man.' John smirked, closing the door behind him.

'Hm, form of rebellion. Mycroft listened to Mozart, so I listened to this.' Sherlock smiled to himself, somewhat reminiscing, not that he'd admit it, before going over to his wardrobe and pulling out a bottle of whiskey. He dusted it off.

'Jesus how long has that been in there?'

'Since we moved in.'

He threw the bottle at John, who only just caught it. 'Get the shot glasses John.'

John hurried off to the kitchen, blinking slightly, making some connection between Sherlock, classic rock and alcohol, and about half a bottle later, between them Sherlock was slightly tipsy and John, who was somewhat worse, was deliberating on whether to stumble to the shops and get a bottle of wine/ vodka/ anything he could to make Sherlock more drunk than he currently was.

'You can't handle your alcohol.' Sherlock teased.

'I will be back shortly.' John mumbled, leaning on the door for support, slightly sobered by the time he returned, entering the flat to see Sherlock smoking out of the window, and it was the gestures like that which made John love him, the tiny things that Sherlock didn't register doing but ultimately were subconsiously for John's sake.

'I have wine!' John sang, giving up on glasses and swigging straight from the bottle, handing it to Sherlock who sniffed it and drank.

'Very good choice John.'

He didn't want to be drunk. He didn't know what he'd do to John when he wasn't aware of himself and frankly it scared him, that some unknown darkness would creep out of him and hurt his best friend, and so for the rest of the evening he drank less, not so John, who was trying to force another bottle down his throat, would notice, but just the right amounts to keep him on the verge of himself, somewhat acting more drnk than he actally was jst to keep John happy and not feel like an alcoholic.

They somehow managed to find themselves on the sofa that night, still drinking, just rather slowly, both waiting for the other to fall asleep but neither managing it and so talking the night away instead whilst they snuggled in the blanket Mrs Hudson had made them last Christmas.

'Harriet doesn't know I'm sleeping with a man.' John giggled.

'Nobody knows about us.' Sherlock hummed, stroking Johns hair, trying to soothe him into slumber. Not that he didn't want the world to know about him and John, it was just easier if they didn't. If the press got hold of it they'd go mental, coming up with God knows how many headlines with dreadful puns embedded in them.

John muttered something incohesive and then kissed Sherlock, clumsily and slightly too hard, but sweetly all the same.

'Where would I be without you Sherly.'

'Sherly?' Sherlock retorted, waiting for some kind of reply to find that John was fast asleep, drooling on a cushion.

**Drool's not very attractive is it?**

**review if you'd like**

**also will probably have a short break from writing as i have science exams coming up, and if i do any writing i'll just be editing the previous chapters**


	9. Chapter 9

**Well i apologise, i haven't updated for so long.**

**yeah i've used way too much dialogue in this chapter, sorry again, but my brain is firmly fixed on chemistry right now. **

Sherlock sprang up excitedly from the sofa.

John looked up at him expectantly. 'Case?'. He was used to the routine by now; excited Sherlock, thinking Sherlock, celebratory, smug Sherlock, and then to end the cycle, bored Sherlock.

'No, holiday.'

'Holiday?'

Sherlock nodded, crouching opposite John on his chair.

'I wish you wouldn't sit like that, you look like Gollum.' John sighed. 'When?'

Sherlock turned his head and squinted at him questioningly.

'I don't know, you haven't booked it yet.'

'Knew there was a catch.' John smiled, biting his lips to keep himself from saying something about Sherlock's inability to do the most menial of tasks despite his Jupiter sized brain.

Sherlock smiled slightly and handed John his laptop, several tabs already open, most travel sites, one on the risks of mosquito bites and other tropical insects.

'Where are we going?'

'Short answer or long one?'

Sherlock perched himself on the arm of John's chair and briefly pushed his fingers through John's hair, a habit he'd picked up as a way of steadying himself. He'd done so after noticing John had changed his shampoo from anti-dandruff to one suited for fine hair (silicone free) giving him a definite volume boost which Sherlock didn't agree with and so for some time every time he came across John he'd smooth down his hair, and so a habit formed, a regular smoothing down at first, which died down into the occasional stroke every now and again.

John had picked up on this and grabbed Sherlock's hand, hoping Sherlock would associate the two actions, clasping his fingers around Sherlock's long pale ones. He didn't really mind it, it was a sign of affection and that was something, it just wasn't the best action when they were out in public as it made John feel like a golden retriever.

'Oh God short one.' John grinned, squeezing his hand.

'Well then we're going to Athens.'

'Lovely, I could do with a bit of sun.'

John was pleasantly surprised, he expected Sherlock to want to go somewhere like Antarctic a or Peru, but Greece...Greece was nice.

'Book it for next week or something.'

'Do you always do things on such short notice?'

Sherlock mumbled something in response and touched John's hair again before going to his bedroom and closing the door behind him.

He came out exactly one hour later.

'I'm going to go shopping.' he stated.

'We don't need anything.'

'I need holiday things, I know the protocol.'

'I'm coming with you then, I don't trust you not to come back with five liters of sun cream.'

'I don't plan to leave with skin cancer John, and don't expect me to soothe you when your skin peels off.'

John grabbed his coat and ushered Sherlock out of the door, patting the grumpy Sherlock's butt before locking the door.

'I just don't think sun cream is a laughing matter.' Sherlock sulked.

'Why do I put up with you again?'

'Because I'm probably the best fuck you've ever had.'

'Not in public Sherlock.' John shook his head and gave him a warning look. He didn't particularly want a repeat of the restaurant again, even if it did lead to a good shag afterwards.

Sherlock remained quiet for some time in the taxi, John automatically assuming he was just thinking and didn't want to be disturbed. To talk to sherlock when he was thinking was not advised as it could make him crabby, and frankly act like a bitch for the rest of the day.

'What do you think about?' John asked, almost covering his mouth as the words tumbled out, surprised they'd left his brain in the first place. He only meant to think it.

'Everything.' Sherlock replied in a monotone, not turning to look at John, line of sight still out of the window.

'You can't think of everything, your brain would implode or something.'

'I think of you most of the time, when we don't have a case of course, I have my priorities.'

'Oh.'

John was taken aback. Of course he knew Sherlock cared about him, cared as much as someone like Sherlock could, but to hear him say little things to remind him was unnatural. He still hadn't quite got over the time Sherlock hugged him after he brought back a sample of staphylococcus from the doctors, and in his natural life he wouldn't be surprised if Sherlock never said the 'L' word. He wasn't even sure Sherlock was capable of such a feeling. And so John did enough for the both of them.

…

'It's too hot.'

'That's because you're wearing a suit.'

'What else am I expected to wear? Hawaiian shirt? Flip flops?'

'Well flip flops, yes, or we could get you a nice pair of crocs.' John sighed. He'd sighed a lot that past couple of days. His hopes of sandy beaches and clear blue seas were abandoned for temple ruins and clambering up rocky hillsides to get the perfect shot, Sherlock having deciding he was interested in photography. Not that John minded this, except it all got a bit repetitive and his idea of a holiday was somewhat different from Sherlock's.

'Do I have to parade around shirtless?'

'Only on the beach, but please, for your own sweaty sake, take your blazer off.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes and peeled off his blazer, before snapping a quick picture of John who blinked back the flash.

'Now can we please go to the beach, you have enough photographs for one day, and you've already filled two memory cards this holiday.'

'Fine.'

'Or we could go back to the hotel?' John suggested, raising an eyebrow.

'No, we'll go to the beach, there might be fossils there.' A hint of excitement reached his voice.

'Doubt it.'

'Are you in a mood now, is it something I said?' Sherlock asked, quite impressed that he'd picked up on it so quickly.

'No, it's just that we haven't had...you know for a while now, and I haven't had a wank for weeks.'

'I'm not stopping you.'

'I know, I'm just saying I value your company over my own.' John shrugged.

'If you want me to have sex with you just say, but i'm not a machine John.'

'Forget it.'

'Beach then?'

'Yeah.'

A row of stalls stood before the beach, simple wooden stands covered in colour selling mainly worthless tat, simple memories of long gone holidays. Vendors shouting few English phrases gestured for John and Sherlock to come over, gestures which they ignored.

'I feel we should get matching bracelets or something.' John remarked, eyeing up a display of braided thread while Sherlock smirked at him.

John turned to look at Sherlock, smiling at him fondly for the first time in a long time. When he wasn't being a pretentious cock he was quite the companion.

'Do you want to know the future?' A thick accent spoke, not loudly, but just clear enough for both John and Sherlock to hear.

'Oh God no, sorry I don't believe in anything of that kind, it's not logical.' Sherlock said, rolling his eyes as he laid his attention to the elderly lady, her face consisting of a pair of dead brown eyes and deep set wrinkles.

She nodded and turned to John.

'You?'

'Yeah, go on then.'

John stepped forward and held out his palm.

'No.' The lady shook her head and stood up, putting soft, well-worked hands onto John's face and looking into his eyes.

'Gateway.' she smiled, eyes crinkling wonderfully. Sherlock tutted and crossed his arms.

'Couple?' She asked.

John nodded.

'You're the sensible one.' she laughed. John grinned and turned to Sherlock. 'See, she's good.'

Sherlock shrugged in response, a seemingly 'not bothered' gesture, but he was in reality quite intrigued by what was happening.

'You fight a lot, in future too.'

John nodded.

'Well that's obvious.' Sherlock retorted, receiving a look from the old lady. He turned and wandered off.

'You will be happy, but only once you find something.'

'Find what?' John asked, furrowing his brow.

'I cannot say, but once found you will need nothing.' she said quietly. 'You love him?'

'I don't know.'

'You do, your face changes when you look at him.'

'Oh?'

'You would not put up with anyone else with his manner.'

John stepped back. 'Thank you.'

John looked over to Sherlock who was pouting as he walked back to the two of them.

'Oh fine, do me too.' he said grumpily.

He bent down slightly for the woman to reach him.

'Such pretty eyes.' she smiled, as did Sherlock slightly, always happy to receive a compliment.

'But such a sad outlook.' she frowned.

'Oh.' John commented, gaining a scathing look from Sherlock.

'You have conflict in life, between yourself.' she shook her head. 'I'm sorry.'

Sherlock looked at her skeptically. 'Thank you, very nice.' he smirked.

'You have little faith.'

'Pay the lady John.' Sherlock said offhandedly, beginning to walk away towards the beach.

'Sorry about him, he's a bit...' John sighed.

'Stubborn.' the lady nodded.

'What's your name by the way?'

'Demetria.'

'Lovely name, I'd better catch up to him though.' John laughed, handing her a couple of notes and scurrying after Sherlock.

'You could at least pretend not to be such a bastard.' John sighed.

'I try, but there's absolutely no logic behind psychics, there's nothing in the stars except burning gas and the only things embedded in palms are microbes.'

'What's your star sign?'

'Capricorn, but those are irrelevant too, it's placing billions of people into twelve categories with different characteristics, and each and every person at some point says 'wow I cant believe i'm so suited to my star sign, that's so weird'.'

'You're so cynical.'

'It's one of the traits actually; negative in thought, anyway whilst you were mind melding with her I got you a present.'

'Oh?'

In all honesty John hadn't noticed that Sherlock had even gone anywhere during the last five minutes or so. He'd have to watch him more closely he decided to himself, couldn't have him sneaking off-he could get himself into trouble.

Sherlock handed him a small bracelet, black and yellow, made of tiny pieces of thread woven together.

'Matching bracelets.' Sherlock remarked, lifting his own sleeve until a bracelet of the same design was visible 'Not very manly, I won't be upset if you don't wear it.''

'No they're cute, bumblebee bracelets.'

'I like bees, they play a major role in oxygenating the Earth.'

**I looooooove star signs, scorpio 5ever.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hola, apologies for not updating for what I think is about 3 or 4 months. My only exuses being that I was studying in the first couple of months and after that i was straight up supernatural watching and bioshock infinite playing. Anyway, right now im sitting in bed listening to Panic at the Disco's 'She Had the World', and Ryan Ross's voice has never urged me to write more simply because it's so pretty, that and My Chemical Romance. I feel I should write some amazing chapter and make up for being a terrible writer in the way that I never update, but honestly I dont believe this story is going anywhere. I mean, I have a couple of ideas for where it's going (well actually flamesofamonster had the ideas and shared them with me on a coach journey, yayay), so I think i'm going to end it soon, the main reason for me ever writing 'Luke Warm Cup of Tea' being to see if I could write smut. I hate to say that I need to end this story as I know as soon as I say it's certain and post that final chapter, my brain will come up with some fantasic ideas for John and Sherlock, so I don't know what to do, although I will be proceeding with some other fanfictions (destiel anyone?) Huh, enough of this nonsense, on with the show, thanks for your continued reading x**

John stood at the sink, washing his hands for what felt like the hundredth time after he'd dealt with an unpleasant case earlier that morning. A man had come in complaining of back pain, only to reveal an abscess on his back that rather urgently needed to be rid of pus, a surgical job really but it wasn't large enough for the hospitals concern. John wondered to himself about how a man couldn't notice such a thing right in the middle of his body, but cast it aside as him not having a partner to tell him about it. If John had anything on his back then Sherlock would know about it, and vice versa.

221B had changed, for the better as John thought, in recent times. Firstly, John and Sherlock didn't have separate rooms anymore, instead sharing Sherlock's bed every night, tangled between shared sheets. This had been a problem to begin with, Sherlock complaining of not enough room for his prefered sleeping position, in which he would stretch one leg over the covers and have one tucked under, with arms under the pillow. This is how he started his night, often moving into even more contorted positions as the sun came up. accommodating to John's body had at first disturbed Sherlock's sleeping habits, but he'd adjusted to hearing John's snuffles and having a warm, responsive body pressed against his cool one. The next thing that had changed was their relationship status to everyone else.

Mrs. Hudson knew about them, having stepped in on them sharing a quick kiss as they went about their daily lives. She was flustered at first, embarrassed that she'd walked in on them, but Sherlock and John were more than happy for her to know, and though Mrs. Hudson was annoyed at them for not telling her in the first place, she became accustomed to it, commenting that she thought it was 'sweet' and that she 'knew it all along'. Scotland Yard finding out was worse. Greg knew straight away, he could tell from the way John looked at Sherlock, and the way Sherlock seemed to have a slightly more positive outlook on things, being slightly less macabre. Sherlock commended him for being the first to realise and decided that maybe Lestrade wasn't as stupid as he looked, this of course being a compliment in Sherlock's books. That was fine. What wasn't fine was other people's reactions. Some had avoided John and Sherlock altogether, barely looking them in the eye as they passed, not sure whether to say anything to them or not, wondering if they should burst into such a bubble of requited-ness. Others commented, not that their opinions were of any substance, one man even having the courage to walk up to John and tell him that in his opinion homosexuality was wrong. This man was shunned briefly by the most of people, but it was subtly agreed with by some. They at least believed that Sherlock and John should keep their relationship away from the Yard, which they did anyway. The whole problem was with Scotland Yard was the way that news could travel, the the small matter of small people with small ideas to match. When John discreetly asked Greg how everyone had found out he'd replied with 'Sally.' and carried on with their conversation. He didn't ask how Donovan had found out.

It didn't bother Sherlock that people talked, hearing the word 'fag' and 'gay' being passed around whenever he was nearby. He didn't particularly like the Yard, just a place to do paperwork, but their words did nothing to make him dislike it further. He just tuned them out most times, as he did with the majority of people. John took it slightly more to heart, his tough, army outer layer stripped away and dissected by people who shouldn't care as much as they did. John and Sherlock didn't go to the Yard much though, opting to collect any work and take it back to the flat, returning it in the post about a week later. That suited everyone.

The third thing that had changed was small but noticable, in the form of purrs that radiated around the flat. The arrival of a small cat. It wasn't by choice that they adopted it, rather the cat adopted them, swirling around Sherlock's trousers as he surveyed the scene.

'John get thing thing away from me.' he'd panicked.

The thing looked at him with inky eyes that reminded him of his own, and smooth black fur that was patchy in places. It mewed, revealing the points of small teeth and sat itself near Sherlock's foot.

'Go away.' Sherlock had said to it, even crouching to get to its level and looking at it right in the eyes. 'Shoo.'

It brushed its self up against Sherlock's hand, a bond having already formed that Sherlock wasn't aware of. 'John!' Sherlock whined, almost begging for him to take the thing away.

'Sherlock stop it, the poor thing's lost.' Joh replied, seeing it had no collar and was probably just some stray.

Sherlock crossed his arms. 'I can't work with it surrounding me.'

That was when a flash went of somewhere near them, behind it a reporter who scampered off.

'Great, people will think i'm a cat person now.' Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Sherlock Holmes Homes Stray.'

'Well why not?' John shrugged, stroking the young cat who was proving to be surprisingly friendly.

'It's vermin.'

'We're keeping it.'

'No we're not, if that thing is coming back to the flat then i'm not.'

'Grow up.'

John had already taken off his jumper and was bundling it up for the cat to nestle in.

'It's not practical!' Sherlock retorted. He wasn't entirely annoyed by the cat, but that he wasn't getting his own way.

John shook his head and remained stroking the cat that sat in his arms. 'Of course it'll have to be vaccinated.'

'Why do we need a cat?' Sherlock questioned, stopping what he was doing around the bloated corpse of a sailor and standing up.

'Because nobody else wants it.' John replied, touching his nose to the feline's 'Like nobody wants us.'

'Don't get too close, you'll catch something.' Sherlock ignored John's last comment. He didn't hate cats, or even dislike them, he was just indifferent about animals in general. Boring, demanding things.

'I'm going to take it to the vets, I'll see you back at the flat.'

John scarpered, opting not to take a taxi with the flea ridden being.

Greg, who they had both forgotten was there, made a whipping noise behind Sherlock.

When Sherlock arrived home, John had not yet returned.

He bought up some tabs on cat care and became slightly more accustomed to having one as a pet, mainly due to their independence and that he wouldn't have to be relied upon. He decided against complaining about it, ultimately wanting to make John happy. He liked to see John happy, but not as much as he loved to see him acting sarcastic and bitchy, reminding him that he wasn't a pushover like he first thought. John could even be dominant, taking charge in the bedroom, and the living room, and the kitchen table...wherever they happened to be making love that day. Sherlock remembered one occasion that involved the bath and a riding crop. Odd looking back on it.

John came back with the cat in a cage and other supplies.

'He's fine to stay with us, just need to sneak worming tablets into his food.' John said, letting the mewling cat out of its plastic enclosure, following the cat with his eyes as it darted around in panic.

'Is it going to do this all the time?' Sherlock asked rather boredly, crossing his arms and sighing as the young black cat presumed it was on a mission to knock everything over that wasn't fixed down in the flat.

'No, just while it gets used to the place, I'm going to ask Mrs. Hudson if I can install a flap.'

Sherlock nodded, stationary for a moment before chasing the cat as it darted past his skull. It made its way behind the fridge.

'Oh come on.' Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'For someone so little you're very messy.' He crouched before the fridge, trying to coax it out from behind. It hissed, arching a patchwork back.

'Come on.' he whispered, sticking out a wary hand for the kitten to smell. It purred quietly, and again loudly.

By the time John was back, having successfully installed a catflap with little complaint from Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock was sitting in his chair with the cat on his lap, talking to it about string theory, the cat mewing in response. Apparently Sherlock had gone all gooey and was playing with the cats paws.

'John can I name him?'

'If you'd like.'

'Mendeleev.'

'I'm not going to ask.'

**Ugh that's just about the most boring chapter i've ever written. I think I may leave it here. I have a whisper of an idea for a story line but I dont know, have you all lost interest by now?**

**I hate to sound like a beg but if you'd like me to continue please say so, otherwise I'm done :)**


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